


February 2016

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 Challenge: 2016 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Swap, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2019-03-13 17:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 10,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13575486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Dean has never been very fond of fire.





	1. Thirty-Two: Fire

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this was "ash." Dean having PTSD re: the fire and being scared of fire has always been a huge headcanon for me, and. UGH

Dean has never been very fond of fire.

It’s a part of the job, having to burn bodies constantly, but he can’t stand the smell. Smoke, cooking flesh, burning hair- it’s too much like the night his mother died and sends him back to the mindset of a terrified four-year-old with his whole world cradled in his arms.

John doesn’t comment whenever he takes a few steps back, turns his head away, ducks his nose down against his shoulder to avoid the smell. Sam sometimes gives him odd looks, but his brother stays quiet, too, and Dean is left on his own to avoid the thought of his life burning to the ground.

It works until it’s Sam’s turn to experience the exact same thing.

If he hadn’t had his windows rolled down, warm California breeze cleaning the scent of his brother out of the car ( _it only makes it harder),_ he doesn’t think he’d have ever heard Sam’s shout. Even still, it’s faint, but the sound is enough to have Dean’s heart pounding as he swings the car around and floors it back to Sam’s apartment.

He doesn’t think on his way inside. Shouts for his brother and chokes on the scent of smoke when it rushes in on his first breath. For a few seconds, he’s dizzy and he’s four years old, but then he’s forcing himself forward, holds his breath and pretends there aren’t tears in his eyes when he finally stumbles his way into Sam’s room. 

He sees his brother first, but immediately follows his line of sight to the ceiling, only to wish he hadn’t. His mother’s face seems like it’s superimposed over Jessica’s and he feels like he’s going to throw up.

He doesn’t.

Dean grabs his brother and doesn’t think. Sam might not be a baby in his arms anymore but there’s no way in Hell he’s letting him burn. Sam fights and he screams and Dean blocks it out, blocks out the smell of burning and the heat at his back and everything that isn’t the path to the exit.

Sam isn’t fighting by the time they get out of the house. Dean is numb and he’s still walking, still tugging Sam along with him. There are neighbours gathering and sirens in the distance and Dean doesn’t experience any of it. He is single-minded and blind, feels Sam’s arm in his hands and doesn’t think about anything else.

Doesn’t stop moving until he’s yanked to a stop.

“Dean, look at me,” and Sam sounds like he’s coming from underwater but Dean does what he’s told. His brother’s fingertips brush over his cheek, rough and shaky, and they come away smeared shiny-black. “You- you’re crying.”

There are tears on Dean’s cheeks and he blinks. Thinks about his mom and Sam’s girlfriend and the way human hair smells when it burns. 

Reminds himself that it isn’t his place to be hurt when his little brother has just lost everything.

“S’just smoke,” and he forces a tired smile because maybe this whole thing is bigger than he thought. “We- we need to talk to the police.”

Sam is his priority. He might not fit in Dean’s arms anymore, but Dean’s issues are going to have to wait.


	2. Thirty-Three: Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun is warm, the sky is clear, and Sammy’s been toddling around the edge of the motel’s property all afternoon, singing and humming and critically inspecting all the different wildflowers he can find. He’ll bring them over to Dean, lounging and keeping an eye on his brother from the patch of grass he’s laid himself down in, for a second opinion, and Dean will tell him everything he can about the flower in question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Flower" was the prompt. Baby Winchesters are my everything.

“Wha’s this one, Deanie?”

The sun is warm, the sky is clear, and Sammy’s been toddling around the edge of the motel’s property all afternoon, singing and humming and critically inspecting all the different wildflowers he can find. He’ll bring them over to Dean, lounging and keeping an eye on his brother from the patch of grass he’s laid himself down in, for a second opinion, and Dean will tell him everything he can about the flower in question.

He reaches out and pulls his baby brother down into his lap, smiling when Sammy wiggles in close and presents the flower for his inspection. It’s got big, red petals and a fat, furry stem, and Dean leans in close to give it a deep, dramatic sniff. Sammy tries to stifle his giggle and Dean struggles to maintain a serious expression.

“It’s a tulip,” he declares, nodding with all the wisdom an eight-year-old can possibly possess about these things. “D'you know what tulips are for, Sammy?” He waits for his brother to shake his head and give an excited little bounce before he grins and continues. “They’re for kisses…” He leans in, gives Sammy a big kiss on the cheek. “And hugs…” A moment to wrap his arms around his brother, smiling as Sammy snuggles against him. “And candy for dinner!”

“Daddy says candy for dinner is bad,” Sammy replies dutifully, but he’s grinning all the same, all round-appled cheeks and dimples full of sunshine. “We gotta have food!”

“Okay, candy after dinner,” Dean amends. “And they’re also for…” He tucks the flower carefully behind Sammy’s ear before scooping his brother up, leaps to his feet and runs as fast as he can with a child in his arms. “For flying!”

Sammy shrieks with excitement, clings to him and laughs and holds onto his flower tight. Dean knows from experience that he’s going to hold onto it as long as he can, and thinks maybe it’ll be nice to have something to brighten up their motel room, anyways.

He doesn’t really know all that much about flowers, but that doesn’t make it any less fun to pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	3. Thirty-Four: Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as he loves to cook, between the Darkness, Crowley and Rowena, and their usual hunts, Dean hasn’t had the time recently to do anything substantial. They’ve been living on takeout and microwave meals, and for all the time it saves them, it’s been immensely irritating to the part of him that wants to be able to have a proper, domestic life in the home they’ve made for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was after the episode with Jody sending the boys off with a bunch of leftovers. Domestic Wincest and stuff.

Jody’s handwriting is short and easy to read, and a quick trip to the grocery store ensures he’s got everything he needs.

As much as he loves to cook, between the Darkness, Crowley and Rowena, and their usual hunts, Dean hasn’t had the time recently to do anything substantial. They’ve been living on takeout and microwave meals, and for all the time it saves them, it’s been immensely irritating to the part of him that wants to be able to have a proper, domestic life in the home they’ve made for themselves. 

Jody’s food had been the perfect excuse- it’s not hard to approach her as they’re getting ready to leave, an easy grin and a sheepish request for the recipe she’d used. “It’s just chicken,” she’d repeated, but rolled her eyes and scribbled it down for him anyways.

Baked chicken isn’t all that hard to prepare, as it turns out, and the hardest part about mashed potatoes is making sure they’re smooth enough. He’s got a potato spoon in his mouth when Sam walks in on him, just in time for the chicken to come out of the oven, and Dean doesn’t look up, focused on inspecting the bird and making sure it’s cooked all the way through.

“Dean?” he hears behind him, and he waits until the pan is set carefully on top of the stove before turning around to look at his brother, spoon still hanging between his lips as he works the last bit of potato off of its curved surface. “Uh- what’s all this?”

Dean grins around the spoon before finally reached up to take it out of his mouth, licking his lips clean. “Dinner,” he declares, making a grand, sweeping gesture towards the chicken as well as the other pots on the stove. “I made vegetables and everything, Sammy. Like a real balanced meal. Not a single doughnut.”

He can see Sam trying to repress a smile at that, the way he ducks his head. His dimples are still visible, and Dean grins. “What’s the occasion?”

“Well, you see-” Dean takes a moment to glance at the clock. “It’s 6:07, and a lot of people have dinner- real dinner- around that time, so… here we are.” 

His smile softens a little, almost tentative. Hopes he isn’t crossing some unspoken line, but he misses this, misses the brief moments of peace where they can just sit down and eat together. Cooking is relaxing, too, and there’s a certain satisfaction in knowing that he’s the one feeding his little brother.

Sam looks up again, smiles. Closes the space between them until he can lean down and peck Dean on the lips. “You’re an idiot,” he mumbles into the kiss, and Dean’s chest warms with the affectionate tone. “You’re nesting again.”

“Maybe.” But Dean’s smiling against his brother’s lips, lets himself linger there for another couple seconds before reluctantly pulling away. “C’mon, it’s gonna get cold, and you’ve got lots of veggies to eat.”

Sam laughs as he moves to grab their plates, and Dean can’t stop smiling. “I’m not eating them all by myself, Dean.”

Maybe they’ve got some compromises to make, and maybe Dean’s chicken is a little crispy, but their knees bump together under the table and Sam smiles at him the whole time and hand-feeds him green beans.

Life can be alright sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Thirty-Five: Umber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you know,” Sam murmurs, and Dean can feel his brother’s breath ghosting over his skin as he speaks, “that you have freckles on your back?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word was "umber", and the colour made me think of Dean's freckles. Thus... freckles. And Wincest.

“Did you know,” Sam murmurs, and Dean can feel his brother’s breath ghosting over his skin as he speaks, “that you have freckles on your back?”

Dean is half-asleep, stretched out on his stomach with his arms folded under his head to cushion it when he didn’t feel like reaching for a pillow. Sam’s halfway sitting up, and his fingertips trace patterns into Dean’s skin, gentle and fleeting. “No,” he murmurs, and it’s half of a lie because he’s seen the ones on his shoulders and it isn’t hard to guess that they continue, but he wants Sam to keep talking in that low, soft way of his. “Do I?”

A hum of agreement, and Sam’s fingertips dance a little higher, sending a shiver up Dean’s spine when they tease at the nape of his neck. “Lots,” Sam says. His weight shifts, and Dean feels his brother pressed warm against his side, skin on skin. “Especially up here.”

Dean isn’t usually very ticklish, but Sam’s touch is so light that it’s got him feeling it anyways, fingers curling gently in the bed sheets and catching his lower lip between his teeth. He’s still sleepy, but distracted. “S'nice.”

“They are.” When the path of Sam’s fingers gets a little more defined, Dean knows he’s tracing them, drawing nonsense patterns in Dean’s connect-the-dots. He used to do it with a pen as a kid, so this is definitely more enjoyable. “You need to get some more sun. Maybe they’ll multiply.”

“Maybe I’ll burn to a crisp.” Dean sighs, closes his eyes again. “Got plenty already, Sammy.”

Sam hums again, and they fall into a comfortable sort of quiet. Sam’s fingertips are soothing on his skin, and by the time his brother’s free hand moves to rest low on his back, Dean’s nearly asleep.

The last thing he hears is when Sam starts to count under his breath. “One, two, three, four…”

He makes it to twenty-six before Dean drifts off, warm and content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Thirty-Six: Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester’s baby brother is dead in his arms and he feels completely numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some classic AHBL angst.

Dean Winchester’s baby brother is dead in his arms and he feels completely numb.

He is deaf and blind to everything but the lack of a heartbeat paced with his own, to the way Sam’s body is limp against his chest and the blood that’s drying on his hands. He has screamed himself hoarse and he’s buried his face in Sam’s neck and is pretending his brother isn’t empty-quiet-gone.

“I’m here.” It’s a raspy whisper and Dean’s throat aches but he doesn’t really feel it. He cradles the back of Sam’s head and threads shaking fingers through his hair, swallows down another sob but can’t stop the tears as they cut tracks down his cheeks. “I’m here, little brother, and- and I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

Sam is unresponsive and Dean breaks a little bit more.

His brother’s killer is getting away and there’s a demon on the loose but Dean is  _numb,_ he is cold and he is empty and his sun-stars-heart-world- _everything_ is gone.

He holds Sam a little tighter and pretends that Sam is still here to smile at him and roll his eyes and tell him he’s an idiot. To look him in the eyes and hold his hands and tell him he loves him.

Dean closes his eyes on blood and emptiness. There’s nothing else he wants to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. Thirty-Seven: Cold + Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow crunches under their feet and it’s almost too loud for the middle of the night, for the wide, untouched clearing they’ve found themselves, the light of the moon turning the blanket of snow into a sparkling reflection of the stars overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weechesters go out to see a meteor shower in the middle of winter. The prompt words were "cold" and "star" and this is what happened.

Dean’s breath puffs out white from between his lips, and Sam’s hand is warm in his, small and soft with the mittens he’s wearing. Snow crunches under their feet and it’s almost too loud for the middle of the night, for the wide, untouched clearing they’ve found themselves, the light of the moon turning the blanket of snow into a sparkling reflection of the stars overhead.

“Are we gonna make it on time?” Sam asks, his voice soft like he doesn’t want to disturb the quiet of the night. 

Dean gives his hand a gentle squeeze, leads him a couple more steps forward before stopping and dropping his bag. “We’re here,” he replies, shuffling around until he can get everything set up.

The sleeping bag is thick and waterproof, perfect for what he has in mind as he spreads it out flat on top of the snow. Once it’s in place and the snow moulded around it for comfort, Dean ushers his brother to sit down, joining him a moment later with a thermos in hand. 

They’re both bundled up in their best winter gear, and all Dean can see of his brother are his eyes and his cold-pinked cheeks. Sam looks up while Dean fumbles with the lid of the thermos, managing to get it open just as Sam lets out a soft gasp. “Dean.”

He turns his eyes skyward and they widen with the first shooting star. “Right on time,” he whispers, and reaches an arm around his brother to hold Sam snug against his side as the meteor shower starts.

They’re quiet, sharing the hot chocolate and talking in soft whispers as they watch the stars overhead. Dean points out a couple of easy constellations during the slow periods, and Sam’s eyes are full of wonder, big and bright as he reaches up and tries to trace out the patterns in the sky.

“Thank you,” Sam whispers at one point, leaning into Dean’s side. He’s got the lid of the thermos cradled between his hands, steam curling up gently from its contents and dissipating into the air. “This is nice.”

Dean turns and presses his lips to Sam’s temple, covered by a wool hat for the moment. “Yeah,” he whispers back. Looks up as another shooting star streaks through the sky. “Make a wish, Sammy.”

His brother curls up closer to his side, and Dean figures there’s nothing in the world he needs to wish for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks!


	7. Thirty-Eight: Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there’s any one thing that makes Dean more beautiful than he already is, Sam thinks, it has to be the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word was "gold". This is soft and vaguely Wincesty. Mostly Sam just thinks Dean is really pretty.

If there’s any one thing that makes Dean more beautiful than he already is, Sam thinks, it has to be the sun.

It isn’t often that he gets to sit back and appreciate the way Dean looks under sunlight, but sometimes he gets lucky on long drives with the windows rolled down, with the radio on and a gentle smile on his brother’s face. Sometimes it’s the middle of the day on an empty stretch of highway and Dean’s content, walls down and entirely at ease as he hums along with whatever music they’re listening to.

Sometimes, Sam can just stare, can drink in the shine of his brother’s hair, the way it’s ruffled in the wind, soft like spun gold. The way his eyes lighten to meadow-green, the way the sun brings out the little flecks of gold Sam knows he’ll be able to pick out if he looks close enough, the way his eyelashes look even longer, almost feminine. He’ll look younger, too, freckles obvious in the natural light, delicate and strong all rolled up into one.

Sometimes, when Sam is especially lucky, Dean will glance over with that soft smile on his face, and he won’t frown, he won’t get embarrassed or irritable when he catches Sam staring. Sometimes, he’ll just raise his eyebrows slightly, amused.

“You starin’ again?” he’ll ask, and Sam will smile, caught red-handed and having the decency to look sheepish. The sun will bring out the happiness in Dean’s eyes and Sam’s chest will be warm with it, bursting with a wave of affection for his big brother. “Tellin’ you, kid, there’s more interesting stuff to look at around here.”

Whether they’re riding the ocean’s coast or an evergreen forest or the Grand Canyon, when Dean smiles in that way that makes Sam’s heart stutter and the sun has Dean glowing soft and golden, he’s inclined to disagree.

“Eyes on the road,” he’ll reply, voice soft, and Dean will roll his eyes but do as he’s told.

The moments are few and far between, but they carve out their own special place in the part of Sam’s heart where his big brother lives, and he never intends to let them go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you!


	8. Thirty-Nine: Hurt + Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is twenty-five years old the first time he goes on a hunt alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word were "hurt" and "lonely". Stanford era. Dean is alone and sad.

Dean is twenty-five years old the first time he goes on a hunt alone.   


It’s exhilarating at first, knowing that his dad trusts him this much. It’s just a textbook salt and burn, but he’s thrumming with excitement from the moment he leaves the motel to head south. It’s an easy case the whole way through, even if it’s strange to only order one meal, one coffee, table for one. He’s always had a second half by his side, but for those few days in Georgia, he’s alone.

The spirit manages to cut him up a little before she bursts into flames, and that might be the worst part. Dean limps his way back to his motel, sits down heavily on the bed, and comes to the startling realization that there is no one here to patch him up.

He nearly passes out doing his own stitches, and they’re messy, lopsided with drink and exhaustion. His dad’s going to give him hell when he sees what a shitty job Dean’s done with them, but for now, he doesn’t care. He’s been hit hard with the quiet of the room and the suffocating feeling of a single king-sized bed, and he just wants to go to sleep.

It takes hours for him to drift off. He’s too used to the sound of another person’s breathing in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	9. Forty: Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dean meets the eyes of the girl in front of him, blown wide and discoloured with the vampire’s blood pumping through her veins, he sees himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a lot of feelings about the parallels between Dean and Alex. Here are... some of them.

When Dean meets the eyes of the girl in front of him, blown wide and discoloured with the vampire’s blood pumping through her veins, he sees himself.

It isn’t a novelty for him to relate to people he meets on the job. Scared children, grieving widows. Those who’ve experienced pain and loss at the hands of the supernatural. Their sorrow reflects the last thirty-one years of his life, and it’s an advantage, sometimes- to be able to offer words of comfort that reach deeper than they could without that shared tragedy. 

It’s very rare, though, for him to feel connected to a monster.

Alex isn’t a monster. Not really; just another victim who got tangled up with the wrong crowd. She’s scared and unsure, betrayed by the people closest to her and wary of the rest of the world.

Dean thinks about his brother, years ago- a tiny smirk on his face watching Dean get bit.

About his angel, choosing the wrong side- staying quiet and letting Dean defend the honour he’d abandoned.

About his dad and about God and about everyone upon whom he has ever relied, about all the people who’ve hurt him, who he’s cared about and who’s let him down and who’s abandoned him when it’s time to pick up the pieces.

Takes a deep breath and thinks about Sam, a constant presence at his side. About Castiel and Jody and Charlie and all the friends he has scattered across the country, the people who pick him up and carry him through his darkest hours.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he tells her, the scared girl in front of him who’s just lost everything she knows. “Jody’s gonna take care of you, and you’ll be just find, kid.”

Alex still looks a little skittish after the confrontation inside, but she nods. Glances back towards where Jody and Sam are talking. “Hope so,” she murmurs, and Dean lets himself relax.

She’s in good hands now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks!


	10. Forty-One: Big Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This brother you’re road-tripping with._
> 
> Dr. Ellicott is waiting for an answer, and Sam can’t speak past the lump in his throat.
> 
> _How do you feel about him?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many thoughts about this scene. So many feelings. So many questions.

_This brother you’re road-tripping with._

Dr. Ellicott is waiting for an answer, and Sam can’t speak past the lump in his throat.

_How do you feel about him?_

The piece of his soul that belongs to his brother is too messy to put into words. It’s green eyes and pink lips, a child’s laughter and a parent’s love. It’s soft smiles and stolen kisses and whispered promises under the covers, a hand that fits perfectly in his and a smattering of freckles he has counted a thousand times over a million hours.

Dean who is his light, his purpose and his reason and his rock. Who holds him to the earth and cradles his heart in a pair of calloused hands like it’s the most precious thing in the world. His happiness. His everything. 

His big brother.

Sam tries for a smile, and hopes the pleasantness doesn’t fall short. It would be just his luck to be picked apart by an inconvenient witness. “He’s alright.”

The lie tastes sour at the back of his throat and he can’t help but wonder, later, if the shattered look in Dean’s eyes after Sam spits poison words in his face is supposed to be some kind of punishment.

(they end the night in bed together all the same.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	11. Forty-Two: Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam purses his lips, and in a moment of rarely-indulged impulse, he grabs Dean by the front of his shirt, yanks him in close, and kisses him hard. He lets it go on for a few seconds, ignores the muffled sound of protest Dean makes before letting go, and Dean pulls away, looking ruffled and confused and a little angry. There’s no palpable transfer of energy, but Sam’s got no doubt that the curse has moved. “Then no big deal if I hold onto it, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that curse that was transferred by kissing, and Dean kissed that lady to get the curse onto himself, and we all wanted Sam and Dean to get into a kiss-off going back and forth to protect each other?
> 
> Yeah.

“I’m just saying you don’t have to do this,” Sam tries to insist. Dean’s not looking at him, and it’s a little frustrating. “Be the guinea pig.”

Dean  _does_ look then, but there’s that particular cocktail of disbelief and skepticism that tells him Dean doesn’t believe a word of what he’s being told. “What?”

“The martyr. Try and carry the weight by yourself.” He gestures to his brother, the whole length of him that’s infected with some kiss-of-death curse because of Dean’s stupid hero complex. “Do this.”

“What does it even matter?” Dean looks away again, goes back to digging through the trunk. “If she’s good, then we’re good. We’ve got time to kill that son of a bitch before it gets to anyone else.”

Sam purses his lips, and in a moment of rarely-indulged impulse, he grabs Dean by the front of his shirt, yanks him in close, and kisses him hard. He lets it go on for a few seconds, ignores the muffled sound of protest Dean makes before letting go, and Dean pulls away, looking ruffled and confused and a little angry. There’s no palpable transfer of energy, but Sam’s got no doubt that the curse has moved. “Then no big deal if I hold onto it, right?”

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean demands, and then he’s stepping up close again and Sam has to bite back a grin. It’s always these moments that he’s happiest he grew up taller than his big brother. “What’d you do that for?”

“You want to take the curse away from Melissa, fine.” Sam shrugs, keeps his face carefully neutral as he goes back to finding the supplies they’re going to need in the trunk. “Doesn’t mean you have to be the one with a target painted on your back.”

Dean mutters something unintelligible, and then it’s Sam’s turn to be caught off-guard when he’s yanked down for another kiss, shorter and more aggressive. “I had it first, bitch.”

“Yeah?” Sam raises his eyebrows in something of a challenge before going in for another one, dares to catch Dean’s lower lip between his teeth this time. “Well I had it second, jerk,” he whispers against his brother’s lips. “And I’m not letting you put yourself in the line of fire like you always do.”

They don’t say a whole lot after that, caught up in grabby hands and desperate, angry little kisses. Sam loses track of who has the curse at any given time and he’s got a feeling that Dean does, too, and he’s barely paying enough attention to hear the car door shut or Melissa’s sound of confusion.

“What kind of FBI  _are_ you?”

Sam pauses, glancing up and surreptitiously licking the taste of Dean off his lips. The job. Right. Dean clears his throat, shifts on his feet a little and makes a wisecrack about their credentials while Sam tries to compose himself.

Maybe this conversation should wait until later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks!


	12. Forty-Three: Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re supposed to be training, but running drills is the furthest thing from Dean’s mind right now. His brother’s touch had been fleeting, his voice breathless, and the slip and slide of his bare feet in the wet grass like music to his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "run", and instead of doing something sad: Weechesters being cute and silly. Or, as I phrased it in my original tags, "babbies playing tag."

“Tag! You’re it!”

They’re supposed to be training, but running drills is the furthest thing from Dean’s mind right now. His brother’s touch had been fleeting, his voice breathless, and the slip and slide of his bare feet in the wet grass like music to his ears.

“I’m gonna get you!” Dean cackles as he chases after him. They’ve both got their shoes and socks off, jeans rolled up to the knees as if it does them any good. They’re both already muddy, dirt and grass stains on their clothes, and it’s easy not to worry about anything else besides the game they’re playing.

Dean’s legs are still longer than Sam’s, but his brother is nimble on his feet, and with the added hazard of the wet grass, it works to his advantage. It doesn’t stop Dean from laughing as he runs after his brother, nearly gets close enough to touch before Sam pulls a sharp turn and Dean slips, loses his balance and ends up on his ass, just making him laugh harder.

Sam wanders over a moment later, and he’s grinning madly as he plops down beside Dean on the ground, both of them needing a moment to catch their breath. “S’this mean I win?”

“You wish, twerp.” Dean grins at him, then reaches out and pulls his brother in for a tight hug, squishing the air out of him and laughing as Sam squirms around, complaining. “I win ‘cause I’m oldest and those are the rules.”

“No fair!” Sam’s laughing, though, breathless and whining when he gets to chance, kicking his legs out and wriggling in Dean’s hold. “You can’t just make up new rules!”

“Just did.” Dean loosens his grip enough for Sam to be able to settle against him more comfortably, if a little huffy. “So… I win.”

“No way,” Sam grumbles, but stops trying to pull away and curls against Dean’s chest when Dean lies down properly, dirt and mud be damned. “Jerk.”

“Them’s the breaks, bitch.” Dean closes his eyes and smiles, stretches out his legs and wiggles his toes and hugs his brother tight.

Goofing off is just exactly as good as it’s made out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3!


	13. Forty-Four: Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Creation has always way of drawing her attention, and Amara doesn’t see a reason to resist its influence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Amara a lot, okay?

Creation has always way of drawing her attention, and Amara doesn’t see a reason to resist its influence.

It’s a bird, perhaps the size of her fist. It hops along the dirt path in front of her, occasionally pausing to inspect the ground, and she crouches down slowly, brow furrowing slightly as she watches it work.

“Would it not be easier to search for food somewhere more bountiful?” she murmurs, mostly to herself. It’s an odd impulse to reach out to the creature, but she follows it, regardless, fingers curled gently inwards towards her palm as she extends her arm.

The bird skitters away at first before returning, wary but curious. Amara is caught off-guard when it hops into her hand, chirping sweetly while it settles down in the curl of her palm.

She is destruction, the end of everything, the Darkness- but in that moment, with the tiny, trusting creature ruffling soft feathers against her skin, she feels oddly disconnected from it all.

She dares to brush her thumb against its wing, just gently, and gets another little chirp in response.

She’s left feeling oddly empty when the bird leaves her, and she doesn’t move from her place for a long time. Perhaps there is more to this world than she has previously allowed herself to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks!


	14. Forty-Five: Curtain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s warm to the touch and a little softer, a little less cut than he might’ve been ten years ago, and Sam noses through short hair and thinks about all the space in his chest that’s taken up by the love he feels for this man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda curtain fic-ish. Just soft brothers being in love and stuff.

Dean is already asleep. It’s Sam’s turn tonight to do a quick perimeter check, making sure all of their sigils are in place before padding back towards their room, smiling softly at the sight of his brother curled up in bed. The roses on the desk are a new spot of colour as he closes the door behind him, and they stand out even when he turns off the light, something quietly beautiful to mark the day.

Sam slips into bed carefully, smiles when Dean shifts and mumbles into his pillow. It’s easy to curl an arm around his brother’s middle, to shuffle around until Dean’s tucked away against his chest. He’s warm to the touch and a little softer, a little less cut than he might’ve been ten years ago, and Sam noses through short hair and thinks about all the space in his chest that’s taken up by the love he feels for this man.

He brushes his lips, whisper-soft to the top of Dean’s head, listens to soft breathing that mirrors his own. It’s quiet and gentle and easy, and there’s a moment where he thinks they’re lucky to have this.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean,” Sam mumbles, eyes slipping shut. “Love you.”

Warm skin and a steady heartbeat are the only answer he needs, and Sam falls asleep, for once, content with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	15. Forty-Six: Little Dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Easy, little dove."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, the day after Valentine's just translates to writing porn for me. Huh.
> 
> Wincest. Age swap. Size kink... underage? It's ambiguous, but there's definitely something sinful happening. Porn.

“Easy, little dove,” Sam murmurs, lips brushing the spot just behind Dean’s ear. He spreads his brother out a little wider in his lap, hand flat against Dean’s chest to hold him close. “Just breathe.”

Dean squirms against him a little bit, makes breathy little whimpers with the added stimulation. He’s soft to the touch, creamy-smooth skin that dimples under Sam’s fingertips, bruises easy like forbidden fruit. Cinnamon freckles tease at the gentle slope of his collarbones and Sam wants to lick them from his skin, ducks down to seal his lips to a little cluster that reminds him of the Milky Way.

Dean quiets down again within a few seconds, and Sam gives him a little nip in reward, smiles at the sound it earns him. “Don’t need to be quiet. It’s just me, Dean.”

He smooths one hand down a baby-soft thigh and thinks, with a jolt of pleasure, that he can damn near wrap his whole hand around it, fingertips nearly touching. Dean is so fucking  _small_ and Sam’s grip on him tightens just thinking about it.

“Sammy,” Dean says, sounds like he’s barely managed to squeeze it out, “it’s- you’re so-” Stops to try to breathe and Sam presses a couple kisses to the back of his shoulder. “S’too big.”

“You took it all, though.” Sam smiles against his brother’s skin, hums gently. “You’re doin’ so good, baby brother.”

He slides his hand down Dean’s chest, fingertips brushing dusky nipples just to feel Dean shiver against him. He’s intent on finding Dean’s little cock between his fingertips, but stops when Dean gasps- when he feels the bulge protruding from Dean’s belly.

Realizes what it is and nearly loses it.

“See this?” Sam whispers, can’t disguise the wonder in his voice as he presses against it tenderly. Feels the pressure on the head of his cock and groans, drops his head to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “It’s me, Dean. You’re so little I almost don’t fit inside you, baby.”

Dean’s hand finds his, soft little fingertips pressing against his own tummy. Sam covers them up with his own and brings his free hand into play, takes Dean’s cock like he meant to from the start.

“Keepin’ me warm even though I’m so big,” Sam whispers, and it’s mindless, senseless words meant to encourage and sooth as he starts jacking Dean off. “Such a good boy, Dean, takin’ me all inside. So goddamn beautiful.”

Dean doesn’t last long; he’s too young, too sensitive, and he presses back against Sam as he comes, pink lips parted in a soundless cry, skinny chest heaving while he goes tight around Sam.

It’s just a matter of pressing up a little deeper, of the salty-sweet taste of Dean’s skin before Sam’s following after him, bities down on the junction between Dean’s neck and shoulder and feels Dean shake, the way he tries to keep his little sobs quiet.

“I’ve got you,” Sam whispers when he can, when he’s licked his lips and caught his breath. “I’ve got you, little brother. S’okay.”

He holds Dean tight and pets down his chest and stomach and thighs and tells him what a good job he’s done. Dean clings and slumps against him, just about falls asleep right in his lap.

No matter. All the better to start again later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	16. Forty-Seven: Transcendence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes.”
> 
> A single word, the final, desperate prayer of a broken man, cracked lips and bloodied knuckles and everything seems to fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean says "yes" to Michael. The word for the day was "transcendence" and. Dean/Michael is good.

_“Yes.”_

A single word, the final, desperate prayer of a broken man, cracked lips and bloodied knuckles and everything seems to fade.

The pain dissipates into nothingness as Dean is enveloped by warmth, something soft and golden hejefkwejfjthat feels like coming home. It’s a clean lungful of air and the sun on his skin, grass between his toes and the song that’s always been stuck in his head with words that finally make sense. It is everything and it is nothing, a totality to the sensation that makes him feel complete.

The hands that cup his cheeks are unfamiliar, the piece that has always been missing in his soul. Soft lips brush his forehead and Dean doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but feels safe and cherished and loved with them closed.

“Thank you,” someone whispers. It resonates in his chest and wraps him up in the comfort he’s never had, not so much a sound as a feeling, a knowledge. “You’ve made the right choice, Dean. You’ve saved us.”

There’s a fading of consciousness that feels like going to sleep, and the arms that support him make it all to easy to give in. 

He’s done his part. The rest is up to someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	17. Forty-Eight: Hardwood floors, butterflies, silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not so bad at this,” Jessica tells him as they straighten up again, and there’s a playful note in her voice that has Sam smiling, sheepish. “Maybe we’ll make a proper dancer of you yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small, artsy Samjess thing. The stuff I was working with were "hardwood floors", "butterflies", and "silver".

She’s bare feet against hardwood floors, a skirt that flutters airy and soft around her legs as she moves. She’s laughter like birdsong and green eyes that Sam falls in love with every time he looks at her, and she does a twirl for him with all the grace she had when they first met.

Jessica smiles at him, soft and warm as he dips her carefully. His back isn’t what it used to be, but she holds him and tips her head back, the tips of blonde curls just brushing the floor, and he thinks he can do this a little longer. The music is something soft that has him feeling younger than he is, and he doesn’t try to disguise the tenderness to his features.

“You’re not so bad at this,” Jessica tells him as they straighten up again, and there’s a playful note in her voice that has Sam smiling, sheepish. “Maybe we’ll make a proper dancer of you yet.”

“Or maybe I’m still a lost cause, huh?” He grins at her, ducks in close to steal a kiss. Whispers against petal-soft lips, “or else I might’ve learned by now.”

She laughs at him and Sam lets go of her hand in favour of wrapping her up in his arms, nosing into her hair and smiling as she hugs him back. She’s warm and she’s soft and she’s everything he’s ever wanted in his life, everything he never dreamed he could have.

“Happy twenty-five years, Jess.”

A soft sigh of content, and Sam hugs her a little tighter as she presses a kiss to his jaw. “Here’s to twenty-five more.”

He thinks they can manage that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	18. Forty-Nine: Colour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there’s a hole in his chest for almost a year, but it’s easy to ignore when he’s on the job. blood on his hands and ice in his heart and it’s almost as if nothing is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soulless!Sam has some very complicated feelings about his big brother.

there’s a hole in his chest for almost a year, but it’s easy to ignore when he’s on the job. blood on his hands and ice in his heart and it’s almost as if nothing is missing. 

a djinn is after his brother and the adrenaline in his veins isn’t all for the hunt.

dean takes some of the grey out of the world and helps him see in colour. it becomes red blood and cinnamon freckles and green eyes and thinks he likes it better than the way things looked when he was alone. 

he feels a phantom sensation where his heart beats in his chest for which he has no name, but it’s tied to dean and there’s a pleasant warmth to it that he doesn’t want to lose.

dean looks at him sometimes like he’s scared. like he’s wrong and different and not quite trustworthy.

those are the times that he puts a smile on his face and a soft look in his eyes. speaks gentle words in low tones and watches the tension ease out of dean’s shoulders.

his brother is too trusting and it’s a weakness, but when it works to sam’s advantage- when it keeps dean by his side, keeps colour in his world and warmth in his chest- he decides he can let it go. 

dean is too important to lose, even if he doesn’t understand why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	19. Fifty: Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dean pulls trembling fingertips down the length of his own arm, his skin is smooth and warm and baby-soft after his shower. The mirror is fogged up, but when he raises a hand to rub it clear, his reflection echoes the tight feeling in his chest, constricting around his lungs and heart.
> 
> Everything is _wrong_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd completely forgotten about writing this. It's an idea I took another run at much later in 2016 (it's already up here somewhere, I think), but. Dean's lost all his scars after Cas brought him back from Hell, and it doesn't sit right. Self harm warning.

When Dean pulls trembling fingertips down the length of his own arm, his skin is smooth and warm and baby-soft after his shower. The mirror is fogged up, but when he raises a hand to rub it clear, his reflection echoes the tight feeling in his chest, constricting around his lungs and heart.

Everything is  _wrong._

He’s been back from Hell for two weeks and things are missing. Forty years in the pit and his memories are shaky, but Sam helps. Sam feeds colours and sounds back into the fading images in his head, but when he looks down at his own skin and tries to paint the pictures that should be there-

He should have a scar, big ugly thing that curves from his left shoulder down across his collarbone. Shifter they took down a couple years ago. A burn mark on his right hip, a stupid accident in an old house. There should be the shorter, neater scars all up his left arm, years of proving his humanity to his dad and his brother and to other hunters.

His skin is blank and untouched and Dean can’t breathe. He’s lost too many damn memories as it is and his scars are supposed to be the ones anchored inside of him, physical reminders of everything he’s been through. He isn’t going to let them slip away from him, angels be damned.

The razor is too heavy and his hands are shaking, but when he sits down with his back against the wall and presses the blade into the skin of his forearm- like he’s proving himself, testing himself, like he’s  _human-_ everything gets a little easier. The world stills and his hands steady out and air fills his lungs again.

There’s a surgical precision to the cuts he makes, recreating the scars that belong there one by one. The blood is vibrant on the canvas of his skin and it’s thrilling, watching it well up in the blade’s wake and spill down the sides of his arm, stain his fingertips. Pain is his backdrop and he’s dizzy with it, high on the feeling of getting himself back.

The world has taken so much from him already, and he’ll be damned if they take that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	20. Fifty-One: Kiss It Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dean winchester is four years old, and his skin is a blank canvas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit of a "Dean + scars" kick. Not to mention constantly being upset by his relationship with his mom.

dean winchester is four years old, and his skin is a blank canvas.

he scrapes his hands and knees, sometimes, playing outside, but his momma has a way of kissing them better so they heal away like magic. she’ll smile and tap his nose and tell him “you just gotta tough it out, baby. i’ll patch you up and you’ll be more careful next time, and maybe you’ll stop getting scapes like this, huh?”

she isn’t there to kiss him better when their house burns down. he hurts, worse than he’s ever hurt from scraped hands and knees, and his daddy just holds him and his baby brother, stares at nothing and doesn’t say much at all.

dean wonders quietly if maybe he’ll have to kiss his own scrapes better from here on out.

-

he’s nineteen and he still dreams about her, sometimes. after a bad hunt. a bad day at school. that time he was thrown into a wall by a poltergeist and broke his arm, she visited him every single night.

“gotta be more careful, baby. you’re gonna get yourself hurt real bad if you’re not careful.”

usually he can’t touch her. she’s there, just barely out of reach, smiles soft and talks to him and if he’s lucky, kisses his forehead before it’s time for her to go.

“why’d you leave, mom?”

he feels four years old all over again and she pauses, looks sad for a moment. steps forward and cups his cheek and he feels like he’s falling apart.

“i don’t know, baby. i didn’t have a choice.”

he’s got nicks and scrapes and bruises more often than not now, and some of them leave scars behind. he can’t help but wonder to himself whether they would leave their permanent marks if she was still around to kiss them for him.

-

he’s twenty-seven, now, and doesn’t think he’s going to get any older than this with the way things are panning out.

his body is somewhere in this hospital being kept alive by a cluster of machines while his brother scrambles for a way to save him. there’s a reaper after his soul and dean knows that he’s running out of time.

his mother meets him outside the delivery ward while he searches the building for answers. her eyes are soft and sad, looking in on the newborns in their cots.

“you were so small when you were born,” she says, and dean steps closer, feels like he’s in a trance. “healthy, but tiny. six pounds, four ounces.”

“what’re you doing here?”

she smiles, just soft, doesn’t look at him yet. dean wonders if this is real. “hurt real bad this time, huh?”

he’s quiet. looks back towards his room and knows she’s right. “guess i did.”

“i don’t think i can kiss it better this time, baby.” when she turns to face him, she’s still smiling, but she flickers out of focus when she lifts her hand. her fingertips don’t make contact with his cheek and dean feels something crack in the vicinity of his heart. “might have to figure this out yourself.”

“what if i don’t want to?”

“i’m not sure you’ll have a choice.”

she’s gone when he blinks and tessa the reaper is the one to kiss him better.

it’s not the same and the scars are still there.

he doesn’t dream about his momma much after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	21. Fifty-Two: Hungry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days, Dean forgets about eating altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a whole lot to say about this one. Warning for eating disorder stuff.

Some days, Dean forgets about eating altogether.

He likes to pretend it’s because he’s busy working- buried in research, chasing a bad guy, watching out for his brother. Figures if that were the truth, he wouldn’t be so damn proud of himself every time another hour ticks by without a single morsel passing his lips.

Sam doesn’t always notice. It’s not until Dean reaches that point of a concave sort of nausea and he can’t even step into a diner to pick at his food without the smell of food making him sick that his brother will start asking questions.

“You want me to just get something to go?” he’ll say, s concerned furrow in his brow. “You can just wait in the car, Dean.”

“I’m not hungry.” Dean’s gotten good at smiling his way through half-truths. “Just a little queasy. No big deal, go get your damn salad.”

Sam comes back with a burger for later and Dean tries not to be too obvious about the way he’s damn near hanging his head out the window riding shotgun.

(He takes a sleeping pill with his whiskey that night. One thing he hasn’t quite mastered is sleeping on an empty stomach.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	22. Fifty-Three: Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Momma,” he’ll say, voice soft, knees on the carpet and hands folded in front of him like he’s seen on TV, “I still miss you lots."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This upsets me. Dean is a baby and he just wants his family to be happy and his mom to come back.

Dean never does this until his dad and brother are asleep.

He’s nine years old and there are monsters out there in the dark, monsters that want to hurt his family. Monsters that took his mom away from him and left him to take care of his little brother and try to help his dad be a little happier.

“Momma,” he’ll say, voice soft, knees on the carpet and hands folded in front of him like he’s seen on TV, “I still miss you lots.

“Sammy’s gettin’ better at reading and stuff. He’s the best in all his classes, no matter where we go, and I’m real proud of him. I think you’d be, too. He’s really smart, and sometimes he asks me for help with stuff, and I just hope I give him the right answers.

“Dad’s still sad most of the time. He never wants to talk about you, but I think it’s ‘cause he misses you so much and ‘cause he loves you. He’s still tryin’ to find the monster that hurt you, and helping lots of other people, too. He’s good at that.”

That’s always when he pauses, though, because he knows it’s important to keep his mom updated on the rest of their little family… but he’s never sure what to say about himself.

He starts off simple.

“I’m tryin’ my best to keep Sammy safe.” Pauses, bites his lip. “And… and help Dad when I can. It’s scary, sometimes, but I know I gotta, ‘cause I’m bigger than Sammy and he can’t do stuff by himself, even if he says he can.”

Dean rests his forehead on his hands and takes a deep breath. “I love you, Momma,” he whispers. “And I miss you. Can you please come back?”

He climbs back into bed with his little brother, curls up around Sammy and closes his eyes. The heartbeat against his own makes it easy to fall asleep.

He dreams of tomato rice soup and sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and it almost feels real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	23. Fifty-Four: Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Jensen's first day of freshman year and he is already spectacularly lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a [really cute tumblr post](http://marrieddorks.tumblr.com/post/136652739327/nalayzrz-nalayzrz-i-asked-a-freshman-for-a). High school and J2 and silliness.

It’s Jensen’s first day of freshman year and he is already spectacularly lost.

Even with his dedication to learning the building’s layout during the school open house, he’s somehow managed to turn himself around and ended up outside the library instead of his homeroom class. If nothing else, he’s given himself enough of a margin for error that he won’t be late. Hopefully.

His attention is drawn by a couple older students heading down the hallway, walking with all the confidence of people who know exactly where they’re supposed to be. Jensen steps to the side, ready to stay far out of their way (and maybe try to sneak a glance at the tall brunet boy who’s laughing with his friend, because  _damn_ ), but then the brunet in question- hazel eyes, easy smile, dimples that have Jensen trying very hard not to swoon- catches his eye and he’s frozen.

The smile on the guy’s face only grows, and as the distance between them closes, he raises a hand. Jensen’s not an idiot, but he’s nearly too slow to meet the high-five- catches it at the last second and is all but ready to duck his head and hurry to class-

The older boy’s fingers slip between his own and suddenly they’re holding hands and Jensen is at a loss.

He’s just turned to look, confusion in the way he blinks and a little worried that this is some kind of prank, but the guy’s still smiling, pearl-white teeth on display. He doesn’t break eye contact and doesn’t let go of Jensen’s hand as he speaks, and Jensen can’t help but notice that his hand is big and rough and pleasantly warm.

“We’re dating now,” he’s told in all seriousness. Then the guy winks, lets Jensen’s fingers slip free as he turns to keep walking. Calls over his shoulder. “Love you, babe!”

Jensen is left with a confused sort of tingling in his skin, a fluttery feeling in his heart that he attaches to that damn smile.

First day, and apparently he’s got himself a boyfriend. Now it’s just a matter of learning his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	24. Fifty-Five: Keepsake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn’t hold onto very many keepsakes, but over the years, he’s managed to gather up a few that he can’t quite bring himself to let go of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this after 11.15: Beyond the Mat. Had some feelings about Dean and Gunner and childhood heroes and stuff.

Dean doesn’t hold onto very many keepsakes, but over the years, he’s managed to gather up a few that he can’t quite bring himself to let go of.

He knows he should be sleeping, resting up for whatever they’re going to have to deal with tomorrow- Lucifer, Amara, another case. The universe seems to enjoy keeping them on their toes. Regardless, he’s still awake, thumbing through old photos and notes, sitting on the floor against his bed, eyes straining in the low light.

He’s just starting to worry when he finds it- an old napkin, torn at one edge, a couple decades old. The black marker’s bled out, tiny capillaries of ink that stretch away from the writing scrawled across the middle.

_Dean,_

_Even when it seems like the bigger guy’s winning, never just lay down and let him hit you. You gotta keep fighting ‘til the end._ _Stay strong, kid._

_Gunner Lawless_

Dean knows he shouldn’t still be mourning- just another vic, just  _another damn vic_  he couldn’t save- but the words hit him hard. He squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back to rest on the edge of his mattress, trying to ignore the tight feeling in his chest as the words play against the backs of his eyelids.

_Stay strong, kid._

It’d been a lot easier to take those words to heart when he was ten years old. He’s not sure how much longer he can do it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	25. Fifty-Six: Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the last several millennia, Michael has learned to be very good at watching and waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of thoughts and a lot of feelings about Dean and Michael and how much Michael would've loved Dean. And. stuff.

Over the last several millennia, Michael has learned to be very good at watching and waiting.

When Dean Winchester is born, he is prepared to wait for a very long time.

Dean is perfect. He is strong and brave and loyal, prepared to take every step and make every sacrifice to complete the mission he’s been given. He faces loss and grief and heartbreak, and still he continues on- cracked and worn-down and aching, perhaps, but with his head held high and fire in his heart.

His soul is untouched and pure and devastatingly beautiful, and sometimes, Michael almost can’t help reaching out, taking Dean for himself and claiming what is rightfully his. Cradling that little flame in the light of his own Grace, giving Dean the unconditional love and eternal safety he deserves.

It is not his place to act before Destiny intends it, though, and for now, he waits. He watches over his vessel and does not allow himself the luxury of an imagined reality where Dean is already his.

A human life is a fraction of the eternity for which he has existed. A handful of years has never felt so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	26. Fifty-Seven: Guardian Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re s’posed to be my… my guardin’ angel, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael visiting little!Dean is just. Idk. Super important to me. He loves his tiny vessel.

“You’re s’posed to be my… my guardin’ angel, right?”

Michael knows he isn’t supposed to be here. He’s been forbidden from any further courting of his vessel since the demon Azazel struck the family, ordered to keep his distance and wait until Dean is older and ready to accept his destiny. He is but a child now, unable to comprehend the burden he bears. Instead of keeping his distance, Michael has simply found quieter ways of approaching the boy.

His dreams are soft around the edges, dulled down with Michael’s presence where nightmares may otherwise claw at his mind. He still suffers from the loss of his home and his mother, and Michael suspects he needs support now more than ever. He has Dean in his lap, sleepy and small, and he doesn’t expect the words at all until they’re spoken.

“That’s right.” He looks down at the boy, glowing softly with the purity of his soul. “I am your guardian angel, Dean. I’m here to protect you.” A half-truth, perhaps, but it’s the best he can do with the circumstances he’s been given.

Dean’s quiet for a moment, and his fingers curl gently in the shirt Michael is wearing. The vessel he inhabits for the sake of this dream is that of Dean’s father, his predecessor in the angelic bloodline. It’s always seemed to set him at ease. He whispers, eyes closed and curling a little closer as if he fears a reprimand. “Why didn’t you save Mommy?”

A question Michael has been expecting, but one that’s hard to hear, all the same. He wraps his arms a little more securely around Dean, lets his grace curl around Dean’s soul in a protective sort of warmth. He thinks about explaining the nature of fate, or the inevitability of death with such fragile creatures as human beings. He thinks about the way Dean seeks him out for comfort and protection, and the way he loves this boy as the one his Father has created for him and him alone.

“Because the angels needed your mommy in heaven, little one,” he murmurs. “Just like your father and little brother needs  _you_  here. You’ll all get to see her again one day.”

The sound that Dean makes matches the way his soul curls in on itself, scared and alone. “But I want her  _now_.”

Michael thinks about the rules he is breaking by visiting Dean at all. He thinks about the young boy in his arms who’s lost one of the most important people in his life, the tragedies that wait in his future. About how fate is just and fair, but how none of it will matter to Dean in the wake of losing his mother. 

“You cannot tell anyone about this. Not your father, not your brother. No one.”

He only waits as long as it takes Dean to nod before unfurling his wings, and it’s between one heartbeat and the next that he takes his young charge to Mary Winchester’s heaven.

He sets Dean on his feet in a familiar kitchen, and the child nearly falls in his rush to throw himself at the woman waiting for them, eyes wide with disbelief and love.

“Mommy!”

Michael lets himself fade into the shadows as Mary scoops Dean into his arms. They may not be able to stay long, but he can allow his vessel this small happiness. In the face of everything else on his path, he deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3!


	27. Fifty-Eight: A Good Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared’s achieved that blissful in-between where he’s more asleep than awake, the world a fuzzy blur around him. The seconds tick by at a leisurely pace as he flexes his toes, stretching slowly without any real intent to move, turning just enough to curl around Jensen a little tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft and schmoopy and sleepy and stuff. J2.

Jared’s achieved that blissful in-between where he’s more asleep than awake, the world a fuzzy blur around him. The seconds tick by at a leisurely pace as he flexes his toes, stretching slowly without any real intent to move, turning just enough to curl around Jensen a little tighter.

Jensen’s still soundly asleep by the feel of it, just mumbling something incoherent into his pillow as Jared tightens his arm around his waist. He’s cozy and sleep-soft, and Jared nuzzles into the back of his neck, snuffling softly against the short prickles of hair there. He still smells fresh from the shower, and Jared carefully worms one of his legs between Jensen’s before settling down again.

They’ve got the day off during the March hiatus, and sleeping in is a luxury they don’t enjoy very often. The sun is trying to peek through the curtains, and Jared just closes his eyes against it, breathing out soft and slow as he starts to doze again. He has nowhere to be, and no one who needs him right now except the man in his arms.

It’s going to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	28. Fifty-Nine: Nightcap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _U awake?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that this is a thing that actually happened. Smh. Inspired by the whole "nightcap" text story.

_U awake?_

Jared’s phone screen is too bright in the dark of his hotel room, and it’s got him squinting, blinking the sleepiness out of his eyes. He imagines he can sense Jensen in the room beside his- maybe up, moving around. The TV’s been off for a while, but obviously he’s not asleep.

Typing is hard when his eyes are half-closed, but he manages all the same.

_Kinda. What’s up?_

Wishes they were staying in the same room, but there are only so many strings that can be pulled. This is enough for the time being, even if he’s nearly drifted off again by the time his phone buzzes in his hand.

_Nightcap? I wanna come over._

Jared feels his lips pull up into a smile. If it means being with Jensen and not having to get out of bed, he’s in.

_Door’s open._

He sets his phone back on the side table and doesn’t bother trying to wipe the smile off his face as he snuggles down into his pillows. The door opens a couple minutes later, and Jared’s content to listen to the shuffling and the slide of cloth until the bed dips beside him and someone warm and solid and familiar slips into his arms.

“Hey,” Jensen murmurs, already tucked in closer. Jared hums with the ghost of lips brushing against his own. “Someone’s sleepy.”

“Missed you.”

“I’ve been gone for two hours, max.”

“Still missed you.”

A little puff of breath against his skin and Jared feels Jensen wiggle a little closer. “Yeah, yeah.”

Jared just smiles again, pulls Jensen in close and buries his nose in soft hair. “Gotta be up early t’morrow.”

A soft hum, and Jensen nods. “Guess so.”

“Night, Jen.”

“Night.”

Maybe not the plan they’d gone in with, but with Jensen in his arms, all soft skin and steady heartbeat, Jared sure as hell ain’t complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	29. Sixty: Kitty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny dyslexic!Dean. I'm. Really into the idea of him reading to kitties and maybe puppies and stuff because they just listen and love and don't judge.

When Dean practices reading out loud for class, he does it sitting out behind the motel, weed-cracked pavement and dead grass his only company. He doesn’t like doing it with Sam or his dad around, because he can’t help but think maybe they’ll laugh at him the way the kids at school do. His only hope to get better is to try harder, and to try harder, he needs to practice.

He’s got The Giving Tree open in his lap when he gets a visitor.

He doesn’t notice her at first, completely silent as she is when she moves, and he’s trying to sort out the first couple lines when her tail brushes against his shin and he jumps, startled.

“I-” Dean pauses, blinks. Sighs in relief and gives a shy little smile when he sees who’s interrupted him. “Hi, kitty.”

He’s pretty sure she’s a stray, because she doesn’t wear a collar. This isn’t the first time he’s seen her around, a light brown tabby with big hazel eyes who seems to like him. Dean digs into his pocket, fishing out the can he’d swiped earlier and smiles at her.

“I got you a snack. Is that why you’re here?” he asks even as he pries it open. It’s tuna from the convenience store down the street, and as soon as he sets it down, she starts on it, lapping it up by his side. He reaches out and pets her carefully as she eats, humming happily as he watches her tail drift back and forth. “I think you were hungry, kitty.”

She doesn’t answer him, and after a moment of petting her, Dean turns back to his book, eyes finding the first sentence again. He glances at the kitty nervously, like she’ll be mad if he messes up, but starts reading anyways, voice soft. “Once, there was… a tree. And she l-loved a… little boy.”

He pauses, sneaking a glance at his companion once more. She’s just finishing up with her meal, sitting down to groom herself, and opening her eyes to look at him, blinking slowly. Dean takes a deep breath, confidence tentatively restored, and continues.

“And every day, the boy would come, and he would… g-gather her leaves… and make ‘em into crowns, an’ play king of the for-forest.”

The only thing that changes as he reads is that the kitty steps closer to him and nudges her way into his lap. She closes her eyes and curls up there, purring softly, and Dean feels like he’s going to cry.

He makes it through the whole book with her in his lap, petting her with shaky hands whenever he needs a break. She doesn’t laugh at him and she doesn’t look at him like she feels sorry for him. She listens and purrs and nuzzles against his tummy and Dean feels good about how he did like only Sammy can cause.

He gives the kitty a gentle hug and promises her more tuna. He’s got another couple books to read before they move to the next town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


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